


PTSD Jim

by deawrites



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Adult Content, Explicit Language, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 22:02:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12567172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deawrites/pseuds/deawrites
Summary: Jim ends up in Arkham's new, sister facility for the mentally ill. He's unraveled and trying to put himself back together again. Can he do so with Harvey's help?





	PTSD Jim

**Author's Note:**

> I know the title seems trite, but it just resonates with me as a working title and would not relent. There is nothing cute about PTSD or survivors of sexual abuse. I should know, I live with someone who suffers from both. This is not a 'kink piece' and the events of the rape itself are not detailed to closely. 
> 
> All mistakes are my own but please let me know if you find any so I can fix them. All comments, criticisms, kudos and suggestions welcome.
> 
> To my heartbreakingly #MeToo, I love you.

**PTSD Jim**

How had it come to this? Jim wondered not for the first time as he stood in line at the nurse’s medication dispensary window.  He knew; he remembered; but he didn’t want to think about, to remember, nor any of the pain it had wrought afterward.  Events directly caused by that time had brought him here; changed him to the weak, quivering mass he was, standing in line waiting for pills in a mental hospital. The registered nurse checked his identification bracelet, checked him off in her computer and handed him a small paper cup with several pills in it. He downed them; dry; with practiced ease, only opening the water bottle in his opposite hand when a single pill lodged in his throat. He swallowed a few times, the pull painful and his throat instantly irritated from the scrape of it; bitter powder coating his tongue until gulps of water cleared it. He recalled his throat being raw from that day but shook off the memory as quickly as he could.  He didn’t want to have a panic attack in the medication line. Quetiapin fumarate, bupropion hydrochloride, aripiprazole, lithium and the occasional dose of clonazepam had become the psych-med cocktail that enabled him just to make it through the day.  He was a broken man with an injured mind and there was little he could do about it, but to take pills to chase the flashbacks and ceaseless horrors away.  He barely slept, he didn’t eat much, and he was majorly depressed and suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. Yet every day he marched the drudging shuffle of steps to the dispensary window and dutifully took his medication hoping for some sort of relief. He had come to understand over the course of six weeks incarcerated here that there would be no rescue that didn’t start and stop with him, regardless that for now; he was far too exhausted to care where he was or what happened to him.

 

Placing him in the new sister hospital to Arkham Asylum; _Arkham Behavioral Clinic of Serenity Hills;_ directly shadowed the Gordon family name in scandal perhaps further than that day had. There was no way his mother; Nora; was going to weather that shame. While she had fronted the money to place Jim in a private facility, upstate and away from the gray, shadowed goliath that was Gotham; it had been under duress. Jim’s radical shift in behavior had drawn the ire of Police Commissioner Lobe and Jim faced jail if Nora hadn’t interceded upon her son’s behalf.  He needed to be secluded from its streets and all the trigger reminders of why he was in ABC of Serenity Hills to begin with. While some of his colleagues felt his military service had anything to do with his condition, it was the grit and grime of the day to day of police work that had pushed Jim over the edge. At least that’s what he said. Yet Jim knew damned well it was that awful day that was responsible; that awful, terrible day. For now, the culprit was touted as being the long hours, bad food, helpless to punish the worst of humanity’s crimes, raw frustration of fighting a ceaseless uphill battle had finally taken its toll on Jim.  Too much a creature of his father’s disposition, Jim had fought his mother’s dreams for him every step of the way, joining the military and eventually the Gotham City police department.  While she had wished him to become a lawyer and clean up the city that way, from middle school on ward, Jim; in her opinion; was determined to do the opposite of what was good for him. Nora could only depend on her eldest son, Roger; to uphold the family name with any decency, especially now that Jim was in the Serenity Hills Arkham facility.

 

Jim understood that outwardly he was a disappointment, mentally weak, and an embarrassment to his name and the Gotham badge. He was now standing in the day room of an exclusive mental and recovery facility having requested one of the two clonazepam tablets he was allowed each day to be administered with his morning medications. He had been prescribed them to take them when the anxiety got too great for him to handle, and right at this moment the thought of his mother coming to visit him later that afternoon put him in a tailspin. Perhaps he was over reacting; and perhaps the only way he was going to get through the exchange was to drug himself as much as was permitted by the doctors. Jim knew from experience that if he was calm he was acceptable; if he showed any heightened emotions he was a hysterical and an embarrassment. Nora Gordon had told him such when she signed the commitment papers upon Jim’s behalf.  As it was Jim churned with emotions. The majority were brothers of anger boiling beneath the surface of his skin ready to erupt into manifestations of physical violence if he were pushed just hard enough.  Anger only cloaked the fear and Jim didn’t want to acknowledge that; not why, and not because of that terrible day.

 

Jim had plenty to say to his mother, none of which was something she would be able to withstand hearing.  He felt betrayed and humiliated by her; controlled and dominated. He would often indulge and consider how different his life would have been if his father, Jason were alive. Would Jim have been so serious as a child? Would his world have been technicolor instead of shades of gray? Would he love himself instead of loathe everything within his core? Would his father have been proud of him even if he had still become a cop instead of Gotham district attorney? For his entire life Jim had been shammed to admit not a day that went by that he didn’t wish it was Nora that had died when he was eleven, and that his father was the parent still living in Gotham Heights. It was a truth he now embraced fully, oft times fantasizing about the crash and her injuries just to spite her. He knew it was childish, but the visualization came unbidden at times when his guard was down, or he remembered he was angry with her.  Furious or not there was little use in thinking of the impossible now. The only task currently before Jim was to prevent himself from requesting his second clonazepam immediately instead of half an hour before his mother’s appointed arrival time.

 

He wanted to take a walk in the garden and forget for a few minutes that he was a patient and not here on official police business.  However, being dressed in worn jeans, a gray V-necked tee-shirt, an ecru cardigan and slip on shoes severed that illusion. He missed his suits and ties; his badge and his gun; all of which he had not touched in what felt like months.  Jim felt like screaming, pummeling the nearest person to a bloody pulp in hopes of making himself feel better; to feel calm. He hadn’t slept but three hours the prior night, and a mere two in the previous nights.  If he complained, he was more than certain that he would be prescribed some type of sleep aid, but the yo-yo of medications bringing him up then down was a cycle he wanted to break not maintain. The chill of the ambient air upon his face sent a reactionary shiver down his spine; he wasn’t cold, but feeling the shock of the stifling warmth of the day room leech from his flesh instantly as he walked outside. Jim rolled his shoulders forward and pulled the cardigan tighter around him for brief seconds as he scanned the visible area seeking a less populated space. He didn’t feel like much for company; he was freaked out about his mother’s visit and wished that he could control the anxiety jangling through him.

 

The snick of a lighter caught his immediate attention, and he looked left at grouping of hibiscus bushes. There stood another Serenity Hills resident, yet her turn of incarceration had only been about three and half weeks. Her name was Icy Thornsin, and her first day at the facility she had attached herself to Jim and he hadn’t been able to change her mind about him. She stood five foot-six-inches, had long brunette hair, a penchant for false eye lashes, liquid eye liner and thick mascara to accentuate her blue, gray flecked eyes. Her diagnosis was that of a bipolar, anorexic, cutter with dysmorphic body disorder. Icy was nineteen, and like Jim; was an inconvenience to her family dynamic by being mentally ill. Her parents; who were both wealthy and were in politics, had committed her in hopes of sorting their only child out. She was pretty, and Jim had a casual enough friendship with her. He kept a respectable distance from her physically, even if she had told him from their introductions that he needn’t worry about propriety. She insisted that she preferred ‘pretty boys who are in love with other pretty boys’, and was currently seeking a girlfriend.

Icy stood with one leg crossed over the other, her plum, scoop neck long sleeved top, black yoga pants and maroon blanket used as a shawl hung off her overly lithe frame. She smirked at Jim. “Didn’t feel like drooling over a game of chess with Lester?” She teased of his lithium dosage, as well as a fellow patient that played chess excessively.

 

Jim shook his head and moved to stand upwind from her cigarette smoke. “My mother’s coming to visit today.” He revealed matter of fact even though his eyes were screaming of his inward anxiousness.

 

Icy chuckled without mirth. “Oh, that can’t be good. Do you know what she wants?”

 

Jim shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “Not a clue.”  While he wasn’t trying to encourage interaction, but the same token Jim couldn’t bring himself to be rude to her. After all, Icy was just a kid and had never annoyed him.

 

“Mmm.” Icy pulled her plush lips into her mouth and rolled her eyes upward. “You’re out of the will? She wants you to kill yourself to save the family name? Or,” She looked at Jim once more. “she’s dying and wants to make a last request?”

 

Icy had a dark humor that Jim appreciated if for nothing else than its honesty. “That happened a long time ago, doubtful, and, in spite of everything; I hope not.”

 

Icy huffed a laugh at his answers and moved the cigarette back to her lips. “You’re no fun.” She took a quick drag and exhaled the smoke away from Jim before crushing out the tip of the half-smoked cigarette upon a concrete bench. She tucked the remainder of the cigarette behind her right ear, and held Jim’s gaze for several silent seconds. “What if she doesn’t come?”

 

“I could live with that.”

 

“And the curiosity?”

 

“I’d let that go.” Jim shrugged beginning to feel the calming effects of the clonazepam kick in.

 

“You? Let something go? That’s about as likely as me eating everything on my plate.”

 

“Ha, ha.” Jim mused with a smirk which Icy returned. “What about you? Any drama happening today?”

 

Icy nodded and grinned. “Even if I have to make it up _myself_.” She was a of a pot stirrer at times, dropping a comment or two that would send the people around her into a verbal frenzy. While it was a cruel trait Jim had to admit that he was immensely grateful he had been saved from sharing in a group session because of it. She sat down on the bench pulling her knees up to her chest. “If you don’t mind? Mama needs some privacy to think her dark, insane thoughts.”

 

“Of course.” Jim gave her a little bow and turned to walk away. They would catch up with one another in the cafeteria or at some place like art therapy; which Jim despised and Icy loved.  She had a crafters eye and he attacked the activity like a clumsy child on too much Adderall.  Jim walked for over a half hour trying to sort through the anxious thoughts swarming through his head. Although the medication had taken the edge off, it hadn’t solved the core issue; and Jim’s nervousness regarding the impending visit was ramping up his emotions. Left with no other course of civilized action, Jim returned inside the facility and went to the gym. He stripped off his cardigan and proceeded to work himself into a healthy sweat, only stopping when he realized he needed to shower and change before lunch. Later, when he was on his way to the cafeteria, a staff member stopped him and informed him he had a visitor: Nora Gordon had arrived. Early. There was no time for Jim to go by the medical dispensary for his second clonazepam, and he would have to make do with his current medications.

 

Jim swallowed and proceeded to the guest visitation room. There were semi-private sitting areas separated by sound absorbing padding and partitions to grant as much privacy as possible. Jim was shocked and greatly pleased when he saw his visitor was not his mother, but rather his best friend, brother and partner; Harvey Bullock. Harvey’s smile seemed to light up the room as Jim stepped to him and they embraced for long seconds of silence just taking one another in. After a time, they parted and sat down; Jim sat as close to Harvey as the couch would permit.

 

“I’m so glad it’s you.”

 

Confusion wrought Harvey’s features. “Who else would it be?”

 

“My mother.”

 

“Your _mother_? What the hell she visiting you for? Hasn’t she done enough?” Harvey was quite embittered about the woman acting as Jim’s medical decision maker by proxy.

 

Jim shrugged. “Apparently not.” He searched Harvey’s worn, green, gaze. “It’s so good to see you.”

 

“I was here last weekend.” Harvey deflected but reached out to grip Jim’s shoulder affectionately. “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to make the drive up more often than once or twice a week.”

 

“No, I’m just happy you’re here; whenever that turns out to be.” Jim reassured him gratefulness clear in his expression.

 

Harvey blushed slightly and gave a dismissive wave with his opposite hand. “It’s not like I had much else to do.” He patted Jim’s shoulder and reluctantly retracted his grip, slipping his arm about Jim’s shoulders. His expression narrowed in seriousness as he asked, “How are you doing? _Really_?”

 

Jim considered a myriad of answers but settled for an earnest, “Not well. I have nightmares, and there’s the persistent flashbacks and frequent hallucinations to contend with.” He looked down at his hands before resting his head upon Harvey’s shoulder.  “I thought I saw you walk into my room yesterday and,” Jim faltered and rubbed his eyes then face for a few seconds with his fingers before locking gazes with Harvey. “You’re really, here right?”

 

The question tore at Harvey’s heart and he leaned in to place a gentle kiss upon Jim’s cheek, before pressing his forehead to Jim’s. He stated softly, “This is real.” He kissed Jim’s forehead before pulling back just enough to meet Jim’s tired, blue eyes. “I’m always here for you, you know that; right?”

 

Jim couldn’t help but smile as he admitted that he did, and pressed further against Harvey. He wanted to ask him not to leave. He wanted to ask Harvey to wrap him up in his strong arms and soothe him to sleep. He wanted Harvey to kiss him like he was the most sacred person in his life and not stop, even when Jim was crying at the ache of so much beauty. He wanted all of this; wanted more; but all he could do was remain silent and breathe in Harvey’s scent; his feel; and commit it to memory so that when he was alone in his darkness he had one thing to pull him through: **Harvey**.  Jim rubbed the tip of his nose against Harvey’s playfully before Harvey completely withdrew from him, though his arm remained about Jim’s slumped shoulders.

 

“How’s the food?”

 

“What I’ve managed to eat of it? S’fine.”

 

“Any of the nurses hot?”

 

Jim chuckled. “A few might be your type.”

 

“Are any of them _yours_?” Jim’s smile quirked and he found himself laughing at the waggle of Harvey’s eyebrows in sexual innuendo.

 

“No. Not so much.” He slumped against Harvey fully. “Are you trying to tell me that getting laid would be the answer to all my problems?”

 

“Hey, don’t knock the power of a knowledgeable and compassionate lover. That might be _exactly_ the thing you need most.”

 

Jim grunted knowing damn well that would set him back rather than help him. Still his smile slipped a little as he found himself wishing that what ailed him would indeed be healed beneath Harvey’s hands. He pushed the thought away in saddened haste, and closed his eyes luxuriating in the brotherly affection Harvey forever offered him. He was unaware of the way that Harvey’ leaned back and took in his pale features, his lips and cheeks bloodless, dark circles hanging beneath extended bags.

 

“You’re not sleeping.” It was a statement, not a question and Harvey felt Jim tense a little at the accusation. “It’s all right Jim. I can’t blame you, even if the digs are first rate.”

 

Jim relaxed, chuckling and burrowed further beneath Harvey’s arm and against his side. “I’d rather be at your place, on that spring loaded, leather cracked, torture device of a couch of yours.” Jim sighed silently and felt his hearing begin to tunnel a little. Harvey’s thick fingers were stroking his hair, and the scrape of his soft whiskers against his forehead was comforting as well.

 

“Once you get outta this place? You might change your tune. But on the off chance that you don’t, you know you have a standing invitation to crash there, right? Permanently if want.” Internally Harvey cringed at the last sentence. He knew it sounded desperate, pleading with Jim to move in with him. Not just because he was concerned about helping Jim maintain his mental health once outside of the recovery facility, nor to keep an eye on him; but because somehow Jim could see how desperately Harvey was in love with him. Harvey swallowed and continued to pet Jim’s hair, the strange feel of it making him wonder when the last time Jim had washed it.

 

Jim mumbled something intelligible and then uttered, “I’d like that.”

 

Harvey grinned and for a few seconds grappled with his soaring joy trying to rein it into a more realistic mindset. To remind himself that Jim said he’d move in with him, not that he was declaring everlasting love. Harvey was about to say something further when he realized that Jim’s breathing had deepened, and he looked down to see that Jim had fallen asleep. Expression affectionate, Harvey settled in to allow Jim to sleep for the remainder of their visit together.  An hour later it was the ring of Harvey’s cell phone that woke Jim, and he was all apologies and embarrassment at having slept. Harvey spent several minutes reassuring Jim that ‘it was fine’ and that he wasn’t offended in the least. He hugged Jim tightly and kissed his cheek once more saying fair well and promised to visit on the upcoming weekend. Reluctantly, Jim released him from his hold and walked him to the main entrance of the building, giving him a sad wave before Harvey turned to leave.

 

Jim stood with his arms curled around himself and felt tears prickling at his gaze. His morose thoughts of separation interrupted by another staff member reminding him that he had a scheduled one-on-one therapy session with his psychiatrist, Jonah ‘Nate’ Furst. He wound his way through the hallways to the office and knocked on the open-door frame. He was greeted by a gruff, “come” and he obliged. The office was comfortable, mementoes from Furst’s home state of Texas playing heavily in the décor. Western motif presided decorating in the form of blankets, a set of steer horns, a cow’s skull and a set of replicated civil war Calvary swords crossed above the Texas flag wall hanging. There were a couple of framed black and white photographs of a standard cattle ranch and one of horses. Upon Furst’s desk the civil war theme reigned, he had cannon replicas, and several hand painted soldiers of both sides, a couple of meddles in a display case and both the union and confederate flags crossed and mounted acting as pen container. Nate sat behind his desk, reading glasses perched upon the end of his nose, thick lenses and wire frames, small and severe, matching his weather beaten and worn features.

 

The man was easily in his sixties or seventies, and looked quite like he wore an elephant’s creased and wrinkled skin. His features were tan from being outside, his hands calloused and rough; a workman’s hands. His eyes were bright brown, his bushy eyebrows just shy of being non-groomed. He wore his hair short, was balding in the back and had a severe receding hairline in the front. He was just over six feet, board build, walked with a definite rancher’s gate, and wore a cowboy hat when he wasn’t in the Facility.  He had a slight paunch to his middle but was otherwise fit and healthy looking. He was slightly bow legged and had a laid-back ease to him that offset his severe expression. Jim had been working with him for the past two months and found the man to be quite practical. He was more than capable of engaging in the nuances of social intercourse, though he did prefer to keep things direct and to the point. Jim found his ‘ _call it like I see ‘em’_ attitude refreshing but challenging, as Dr. Furst was not shy about asking questions that demanded profound thought for answers.  Jim knew that Icy was also Furst’s patent. In contrast he had seen the man with a gentler approach to her that he failed to see was also granted to him. Furst’s specialty was utilized animals to help his patients connect with themselves in ways that they failed too with other people. Thus far he had not assigned, nor pushed Jim towards the on-sight stable adjacent ‘petting zoo’ as it was aptly named. There were the requisite birds, lizards, dogs and cats, yet also goats, guinea pigs, rabbits, pigs, a few horses and two cows in residence there. Jim hoped that he wouldn’t broach the subject as Jim had enough responsibility in his life with the people around him in his job; or had done; and was looking to simplify rather than to add to his perceived burdens.

 

Jim exchanged greetings with the man and sat down immediately on the couch, at the end of it, and picked up a throw pillow with a single star in the middle and the colors of the Texas flag upon it. He placed it on his lap and waited for Dr. Furst to step around the corner of his desk, close the office door, and sit in the plush chair across from the couch. He took off his glasses and crossed his legs, pen in hand, writing tablet upon his lap. He leaned an elbow upon the arm of the chair and placed his cheek and chin in the ‘L’ created by his thumb and pointer finger and the remaining fingers curled beneath his chin. He regarded Jim for a few silent seconds as every session was his responsibility to begin, otherwise Jim would sit in silence for the entire time. There were instances when silence was necessary, yet for Jim used it as a crutch and they both knew it.

 

“Your mother phoned me inquiring about your treatment.”  Jim’s hand curled tightly around the edge of the pillow, it’s opposite digging into the arm of the couch. “She wasn’t pleased when I explained patient confidentiality to her. She’s supposed to visit you today?” Jim nodded curtly with an affirmative grunt. Nate regarded him for several silent seconds. “Son, you’ve got to breathe or you’re going to pass out.”

 

“That might not be such a bad thing.” Jim groused, jaw tight and teeth nearly bared. “I could use the sleep.” He took a few quiet breaths regardless.

 

“Nightmares?” Dr. Furst questioned.

 

Jim nodded. “I was back in the Marines. But people from work were there; Bullock, Alvarez; Capitan Enssen, Barnes and a few others. They wouldn’t listen to me. I was trying to prevent us all from being killed but, I couldn’t save anyone.” Jim’s spine straightened at the memory of losing sight of Harvey and sensing that the older male was dead. The others had faded; his attachment to them minimal in comparison to that of his dear friend. “Not even myself.”

 

“No one heard you.” Jim glanced at Dr. Furst’s feet, noting that he wore cowboy boots beneath his suit trousers. The commitment to his comfort made Jim nearly smile but Furst’s next question made his eyes dart up to engage his. “What do you want to say to yourself?”  Jim’s right eye twitched and his jaw set hard. Furst shifted and lowered his arm, pen in hand as he rested both upon the pad in his lap. “We can dance around it son; or not.”

 

Jim ran a hand back through his hair, feeling how heavy it was from the natural oils of his scalp; having gone two weeks without washing it. He had showered perfunctory, yet not had enough energy to wash his hair.  “I miss my life; being in Gotham; working with Harvey. I want what I had back. Maybe not the shit storms that accompanied it all, but the sense of purpose and service that I not only _had_ , but _gave_.”  Harvey; Jim missed Harvey and couldn’t for the life of him trust Furst enough to put it into words. He didn’t want to be challenged as to what, or why he missed his friend. He just wanted to go back to the past when they were together, even if it meant only on a brotherly level. Jim internally winced and pushed such thoughts away. They had no place here in therapy; they had no place within him at all. Just like that day, he buried it.

 

Furst digested what he was told and frowned, pursing his lips before stating, “You tense like a guitar string every time I say ‘son’. You know I’m not saying it to be a surrogate for your father,”

 

“It reminds me of not having a father.” Jim interrupted brashly and shifted in his stance, fingers tugging at the edge of the pillow in his lap. He looked from it to his doctor. “I don’t like thinking about him.”

 

“Why?”

 

Annoyance tinged Jim’s features and tone. “Because it’s painful. He died when I was eleven.”

 

“Car accident? And you were with him?” Jim looked away and huffed an affirmative response. This was covered ground. “Do you ever dream about him?”

 

Jim’s gaze snapped to Furst’s. “At first. I would fantasize about him. I would,” He paused and shook his head. “have juvenile fairytales of what my life would be like if he didn’t die that night.”

 

“Ever write them down? Talk about them with others?”

 

Jim shook his head noticing a slight tremor to his fingers and he dug them into the pillow. A side effect of the medications that embarrassed him. He turned his gaze to one of the black and white photographs adorning the wall; the one with horses; and answered with a lump of emotion lodging in his throat. “there’s no one **to** tell. My brother and I aren’t close, mom was mourning, and my friends just dissipated after the funeral.”

 

“And now? What about your partner, Harvey?”

 

Jim’s jaw set, and his expression was absolutely murderous with possession. He shifted, nails scrapping a little way down the pillow in response to the sound of Harvey’s name falling from the other man’s lips. “ **Juvenile** ; as I said.” He shrugged. “We to talk about other things.”

 

“Work?” Jim nodded. “Your past engagements?” Jim nodded again. “Why not your childhood?”

 

“Because growing up was vastly different for us. He was one of nine children growing up in an apartment tenement in the Narrows. His mother was warm and affectionate; his father,” Jim fumbled for some sort of explanation that didn’t out Harvey as having come from a broken home, after all; it wasn’t Jim’s story to tell. “ _alive_. He’s close with his siblings. And well; it just didn’t come up in conversation to be honest.” Never mind that Harvey had asked him; subtlety as well as blatantly enough times to realize that Jim wasn’t going to share any information. From the deadpan expression on Furst, Jim could tell that he was not believed.

 

“Do you still think about your father like you did when you were a child?”

 

Every damned night up until the time that images; platonic, domestic; and newly sexual; of Harvey began to filter through to replace them. Jim wasn’t prepared to admit to such hedonistic activities, and he flushed a little looking away. His gut twisted with echoes of that day and anger laced fear rose once more. Jim hated the cow’s skull hanging on the wall, thinking it morbid and distasteful; like so much decay of his own core self.  “No.” He stated not returning his gaze to Furst. “I’m a man now.”

 

Furst didn’t respond initially, again absorbing and digesting Jim’s words as the silence began to stretch. Jim flitted his gaze back and wished he hadn’t, as Furst was observing him closely. He shifted in discomfort and looked down at the pillow.  Furst leaned forward in his chair and held out the legal tablet to Jim, waiting for him to accept the proffered object. “Take it.” Furst stated after several minutes of a Mexican standoff. Reluctantly Jim obeyed and Furst handed him the pen as well.  “Write them down. The thoughts you don’t have; the ones you do. No one has to see them, but record them.”

 

Jim looked from the tablet and pen to his therapist. “I’m **not** going to do that.” He refused out right. Furst’s gaze didn’t waver.

 

“Keep the pad anyway.” He sat back in his chair and watched Jim fiddle with the pen and writing tablet for several seconds upon the pillow.  “What time is your mother coming today?”

 

The question completely caught Jim off guard and he shrugged with a shake of his head. “Three. I hope she doesn’t.” He looked wishfully at the office door. “Maybe I should tell reception to refuse her contact.”

 

“Would that stop her?”

 

Jim frowned deeply and looked back at Furst. “She’s stubborn.” He fidgeted with the edge of the paper at the bottom of the pad and curled a few ends of some sheets upward with his thumb. “Harvey was here earlier. I didn’t get a chance to ask him about work.” Jim flushed slightly and smirked. “I fell asleep on him. Literally. I was sitting next to him and I, I just drifted off.”

 

“He’s a source of comfort?”

 

Jim’s gaze narrowed. It was obvious to him that Furst was now asking questions he already knew the answers too; or _believed_ that he did.  “He’s my best friend; a brother and my partner. Yeah; he’s home.”

 

“ _Home_? I asked you about ‘comfort’.”

 

Jim blanched and became defensive to deflect from his embarrassment for being caught with a slip of the tongue. “Can’t he be both?”

 

“He can be whatever it is he represents to you.”

 

_Everything_. Jim looked away wanting to stand up and declare the session over, but he was trapped in the room for at least another half hour, forty-five minutes. “He’s my partner. Someone who always has my back, so yes: I trust him with my life. If that means he’s home, or comfort, then he is.”

 

“Has anyone else from work come to visit you?”

 

Jim swallowed. “No one will. Which is to say, I’m not the popular guy in the bull pen. I’ve achieved the status of begrudgingly respected, but as for true friendships? No. Just Harvey.” Everyone else either hated, or was kept at arm’s length from Jim.  The rest of the session went accordingly, Furst asked probing questions and Jim did his best not to dodge them. He wanted to get better, or at least appear that he was well enough to be discharged.  Treatment was expensive and not covered by his insurance. Jim had the distinct feeling that Nora Gordon would present him with a bill at the termination of his stay. Unfairly perhaps, but the feeling remained.

 

When finished with his session Jim had a few minutes to collect his thoughts and mill around the grounds before his mother arrived. He was sent for immediately and ushered to the guest visitation room. There were a few people present unlike when he was there with Harvey. As he had expected, Nora Gordon found a place that would garner her the least amount of notice. Not that his mother didn’t like to be the center of attention; she did. Though, with Jim temporarily residing in the Serenity Hills facility, she felt a great sense of shame at his short comings and weaknesses. He should be able to keep his chin up as she had through anything life could throw at him, instead of falling to his knees in surrender as he had mentally. She sat like a queen at the edge of her chair, legs crossed before her at the ankles, and feet off to one side. She was as prim as he had ever seen her, and half expected her to be wearing pearls and her wedding ring. She wore neither and presented one cheek for Jim to kiss, and he seated himself in a chair before her.

 

“You’re certainly looking better than the last time I saw you, James.” Nora’s voice was smooth, deeper toned than most women. She had an excellent speaking voice and Jason Gordon had once teased that she should do narrations for nature programs. At the time Jim had agreed, yet now? The less he heard her voice the better. He disliked her telling him one thing, yet sensed the exact opposite was true. He hadn’t been sleeping, had lost weight and was paler of complexion. No matter his gaze was dulled, and he had little to no patience for her. Yet fresh from his counseling session he thought to at least attempt to listen to her.

 

“As are you.” Jim stated with no venom to his tone. “I’m sure you have other obligations so, how can I help you?” Treating her like he would a potential witness or victim was in his best interest. Clinical, non-threatening and perfunctory; an easy exchange if Nora Gordon would only play along.

 

“I’m leaving Gotham.” She stated factually, and Jim open displayed his surprise. “I’m retiring from the University and moving to San Diego to be near the grandchildren.” Not ‘ _her’_ grandchildren; but ‘ _the’_ grandchildren. If nothing Nora was emotionally distant. “I’ll be departing at the end of the month. My condo is up for sale, and I’ll continue to pay for your treatment here, but this will be our last visit until you’re well.” ‘ **If** _you ever get well’_ was more than implied by the statement. Nora raised her head a little, thin neck straightening. “I’ve made all the arrangements, so we can make our farewells.” She looked at Jim for a stretch of silent seconds before adding, “Well? Have you nothing to say to me?”

 

“No. This is what you want.” Jim rose from the chair and leaned forward to place another kiss upon her cheek. “Goodbye Mother.”

 

Nora frowned heavily at him as he withdrew. “That’s **all** you have to say?” she scolded sharply. “No thank you? No word of appreciation for all the sacrifices I have made for you these past two months? Just simply, _‘goodbye mother’_?”

 

Jim swallowed. Her only sacrifices had been financial, the practical ones she had left squarely upon Jim’s shoulders. She had signed his commitment papers, had him forcibly taken from his home, job and life merely under the guise of doing what was best for him. She didn’t give a second thought to him once he was driven upstate. Not a single visit until this one, a last visit apparently, and Jim’s jaw set. “ **Sacrifices**?” He demanded in a growl that had her expression narrowing into a warning. “The only one these past few weeks that’s made **any** sort of sacrifice for me is Harvey.”

 

“Don’t be so overly dramatic James.” Nora stated with a flippant wave of her hand. “Whomever this Harvey person is,”

 

“You know damn well who he is; my **partner**!” Jim snapped causing a few gazes in the room to move in their direction. “He’s more than a work colleague he’s my _best_ friend and the only true family I seem to **have**.”

 

Nora sighed; put upon; and leaned forward a little to hiss softly at her son, “Lower your voice James! There’s no earthly reason to make a scene. You’re not a child so kindly stop acting like one. I did not come here to be treated in such a fashion.”

 

Jim leaned forward as well, hands gripping the arms of the chair to keep them still as much as to prevent himself from making fists at her words. “You shouldn’t have come here at all. A phone call would have sufficed, and been less of a waste of both our time.” Jim rose to his feet abruptly. “Goodbye Mother. Enjoy San Diego, and your grandchildren; a niece and nephew whom I’ve never _met_.”

 

Nora waved Jim’s sentiment off with a well-manicured hand. “Roger is only protecting them from,”

 

“Me! Isn’t that what you were to say Mother?”

 

“From your _career_ as a policeman.” Nora growled obviously not happy about Jim placing words into her lipstick polished mouth. “All the vulgar things you have laying around your apartment. The hours you keep, the broken engagements. Why they would have barely gotten used to Barbra before Leann was living with you. Shameful!”

 

“Lee.” Jim hissed gaze narrowed and dark. “As in _Lesli_ **e**. Don’t make it sound like I had a revolving door to my bed.”

 

“There’s no need to be so vulgar.” Chided Nora; seconds later she rose to her feet as well. “I think we’ve said our farewells and now I’ll be going. Perhaps in a few weeks your temper will be under control and you can act like a civilized human being towards your own mother!”

 

Jim almost expected her to shoulder check him as she breezed by him in a huff. He let her go with no further exchange because all he wanted to do was scream at her. List every way she had ever hurt him in his lifetime and demand to know why she treated him so vastly different from Roger. Was it because he was a cop instead of a lawyer? Could it be so simple as a vocation? Or was it something deeper still? Did she blame him for Jason’s death all those years before? Jim couldn’t come to any conclusion as his thoughts pinged off one another and he stormed out of the visitation area heading back towards his room. He wanted to be alone and he wanted to punch anyone he came across to relieve his anger. Instead he marched to the courtesy pones and grabbed a receiver off the cradle and dialed the only number he cared to remember by heart.

 

“Capitan Bullock.” It was politer than the usual barked ‘what?’ so Jim knew that Harvey wasn’t back at the precinct yet.

 

“It’s me. Are you in Gotham yet?”

 

“Will be. I stopped for lunch.” It was then that Jim noted the clinking of cutlery in the background and occasional voices. “Your mom drop by yet?” Harvey wished many times over the past few years that Nora Gordon was like his mother Grace; warm, compassionate, nurturing. Yet she was none of those things and it pained him to no end that Grace Bullock hadn’t lived long enough to meet and pamper Jim. Jim growled, and Harvey huffed out a, “Went that, well did it? Okay, listen to me, whatever she said, she was wrong and I’m on _your_ side. All right, Junior?”

 

“There’s no side to be on.” Jim explained flatly, anger cooling now that he was talking to Harvey and the effects of his medication was able to override his emotions once more. “She’s moving to be closer to Roger. She came to say goodbye.”

 

Harvey hissed in sympathy. “You wanna talk about it?”

 

“No. I want to ask you something I have no right too but,”

 

“Just ask.”

 

Jim swallowed. “Will you **promise** you’ll come back this weekend? I don’t care which day. I’d just, like to hang out. Or at least call me if you can’t make the drive.”

 

“Jim, relax.” Harvey soothed glancing out of the diner window at the highway. “I promise. If I can’t see you I’ll call. But I’ll do my best to come up, probably on Saturday. We’ll play cards and you can point out all the loonies to me and tell me what they’re in for. It’ll be fun.” No alcohol, no privacy, and Jim not exclusively all to himself but Harvey was determined to make the most of it. Jim had told him that he needed him and that was all Harvey needed to know.

 

Relieved, Jim exhaled and nodded, remembered Harvey could not see him and issued a tender, “Thanks. I can always count on you.”

 

“Yeah, when haven’t you?” Harvey asked a little hurt that Jim was so closed off from the world and especially him now. He knew something had happened that put Jim in the hospital for nearly a week and had him taking medical leave to heal from. He would never say what it was, what had happened that day, but Harvey waited patiently for Jim to explain in his own time. Even if the silence killed him inside watching Jim struggle to deal with his life, and being incarcerated in a mental health facility.  “Don’t worry about it Junior. You know if you were here I’d be doing nothing but hanging out with you on a Saturday anyway.”

 

“I know. I still owe you.”

 

“Jim, don’t think of it like that. We’re brothers. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, or you for me. Right?”

 

“Right.” Jim breathed shaking. He could feel his anxiousness ramping up at the thought of ending the phone conversation, and the only thing that prevented him from having a full out panic attack was that he was talking to Harvey.  “Just, just be careful on the way back to the city. And, I, I _love_ that you take care of me.” It wasn’t the entire truth, but it was half of it.

 

“I love you too, Jim.” Harvey cut to the chase affectionately not caring if anyone overheard. They were all strangers that didn’t matter to his life anyway, who could probably openly see just how madly in love Harvey was with the person on the other end of the phone call.  “Now go do something to take your mind off your Mom.”

 

“I will. Thanks again Harvey.”

 

“I’ll see you Saturday.”

 

The call severed, and Jim pressed his forehead against his hand once he placed the handset back in its cradle. He could survive this; he had lived before without Harvey’s constant presence and he could do it again.  It wasn’t ideal, but for now it was necessary. Hands shaking Jim made fists and raised his head. He had to do something to burn off the excess energy threatening to consume him in panic. He had already worked out that day, but going for a run seemed the optimal thing to do. He went back to his room to change then made his way outside onto the grounds.  He could feel the memories assaulting him in the back of his mind and he took off at a good clip hoping to pound them to nothingness beneath his feet.

 

_Every molecule of Jim’s body throbbed with searing pain. He knew he was medically in trouble and he needed to continue to force himself to move. He could feel the blood seeping out of him and he knew he didn’t have a great deal of time to waste on laying still and taking stock of his injuries. Every shift of his body wracked him with anguish and he just wanted to lay where he was and bleed until unconsciousness took him. It threatened him every second that passed to cloak him in the suspension of darkness but onward he dragged his broken body toward the apartment door.  Arnold Flass was gone, his cronies Dave and Glen along with him.  The room lurched and for a few seconds Jim lost sight of the door. His equilibrium was gyrating out of control and it was difficult to orient himself in directional relevance.  He heard a pitiful keening and realized the pathetic noise was coming from his raw throat.  He felt the salt of his tears burning his half-lidded eyes as he forced himself to be silent.  He was getting nowhere like this and Jim tried to pull his legs up towards his chest a little as he attempted to lay on one side.  He couldn’t make it to the door._

_The pain was excruciating, and Jim reached down towards his ankles for his underclothing and pants. He blacked out a few times during the ten minutes it took him to get both items of clothing back on and put to rights. He ended up on his back somehow and realized he couldn’t continue without any medical attention. He fished his cell phone out of his inner suit coat pocket with shaking hands and dialed 911. He then rolled back onto his side, vomiting a little once he made it over.  The voice on the opposite end was a woman’s and she was calm, and Jim attempted to focus upon her voice, the questions she was asking and not the bone shattering pain he was in from the waist down. His head was still ringing with the blow it had taken from Flass and he was certain he was concussed. Jim was tempted to tell the operator that he was a police officer but instead requested that no police be sent, only an ambulance. His assailants were in the wind and all Jim wanted was to get medical treatment, so he could return home and go to sleep; to forget this ever happened to him. There would never be any forgetting._

**RAPED** _._

_Jim couldn’t even contemplate the word let alone it’s meaning and the significance of it to his own life. He was a rape victim now and there was nothing he could do to alter that fact. Flass and his two sycophants had done the worst thing possible to him and he would have to tell; must admit the awful truth. His bullheaded, recklessness had finally cost him more than he was prepared to pay. Harvey had warned him that would happen one day if he didn’t ask for help; call for and wait for back up. Jim hadn’t listened and now he was suffering the ultimate consequences. This didn’t have to happen and, yet he had allowed it too; invited it upon himself._

**Harvey** _._

_Jim shut down the thought; Harvey had no place here. Harvey didn’t belong in his mind when nothing, but the shock of the events consumed him now. Jim fought to remain conscious as he waited for the ambulance and the medics to arrive.  At the hospital it would be more than apparent what had occurred, and Jim would have to face the reality of a rape kit and questioning from the police.  Unless he refused the kit and to talk to anyone on the hospital staff or police force to report this incident. If he didn’t press charges, he had control of who was privy to the truth and who wasn’t. Right?_

_At the hospital a Sigmoidoscopy provided the data need for rectal surgery and he was rushed into the operating theater. It was going to be a painful road to recovery for Jim._ _Approximately six weeks; give or take; for the anal fissures that hadn’t required surgery to heal, several weeks longer for those that had.  Jim would have to soak in a hot bath, ten to twenty minutes several times a day, especially after a bowel movement.  He was placed on a strict liquid and high fiber diet for the time being.  He would have to be hyper vigilant about keeping his rectal area clean, and apply a nitroglycerin ointment numerous times a day to increase blood flow to the region and decrease spasms. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Jim had to take a round of antibiotics to be rid a chlamydia_ _STD door prize.  Not only did he have to follow up with another Sigmoidoscopy once healed, he also had to undergo two more HIV screenings within the next six months. Flass and his two friends had done this to him, and Jim wanted nothing more than to see them returned to Blackgate prison and given a taste of their own violence.  It would take less than a week for Dave and Glen to be captured and returned to prison by the GCPD, and another seven weeks for Flass to be re-arrested._

 

Jim stumbled in his run, nearly fell and used a portion of the rod iron fence surrounding the gardens area to keep himself up right. He vomited everything he had eaten that day onto the grass at his feet and panted, out of breath and fighting to keep himself from screaming. He lowered himself to his knees and rested his hands upon his thighs, tears flowing. He arched his neck back to look at the blue sky and permitted himself to cry.  He was angry, frightened and all he wanted to do was sleep. It was the one thing that eluded him since the day he was raped by Flass and his lackeys. Jim pressed his face into his hands and hung it forward as he sobbed. He was alone, and he couldn’t tell Harvey; just couldn’t stand to see the look of pity on his face when he discovered just why Jim had to have emergency surgery and Harvey had been called to the hospital for him.

 

No one could know. Not Harvey, never Harvey; and no one could know. No one would understand. They would judge him; tell him it was his fault because it was. No one could know.

 

Icy had seen him running. She knew he’d be fragile today because of Nora Gordon’s visit, but she hadn’t thought he would break down entirely. She figured he would cloak himself in his self-righteous anger to shield him from whatever Nora was going to tell him. Icy made her way from the wall of the building she had been smoking against and walked to where Jim had collapsed upon the grass. She began singing a song she used to soothe herself with to announce her presence. Jim held out a hand to her in direction to go back; to leave him to his misery, but instead Icy took his outstretched hand and held it, slowly bent his arm and knelt beside him. She paused in her singing and pulled him into her arms, pressing his head to her chest and wrapping her arms around him. He fell to the side a little to permit her to hold him and his arms went instantly around her. She rested her head upon his and began humming. She didn’t hush his tears but merely held and rocked him, sometimes singing, sometimes humming and other times remained silent.

 

After a while Jim withdrew, wiped his face, and remained sitting upon the grass in the sun. He looked at her, was about to speak, changed his mind and shrugged instead.

 

“I know that look.” Icy revealed softly. “I suspected, the way you _don’t_ look at me; the way you _don’t_ like anyone touching you whom you’re not familiar with. Even then you’re tense.” Icy fell silent and searched Jim’s expression even though his eyes lowered to the grass between them. “Three times.” She stated matter of fact but with more emotion added, “That’s how many times I’ve had the look that you have now. It’s not easy for anyone, but it’s harder for boys. People, make it more difficult for boys, but I won’t.” Icy promised gently. “I won’t judge you, or think any of the things you’ve convinced yourself that other’s will if you tell them. You don’t even have to tell me a thing, or you can tell me it all. Regardless, I just wanted you to know, that I know. And I understand.”

 

Jim nodded and wiped tears from his face and leveled his gaze at her. “I,” He cleared his throat. “I appreciate the concern,”

 

“ **Three** times, Jim.” Icy insisted.

 

Jim nodded. “I’ll think about it.” He swallowed. “Thank you, for this.” He motioned between them and Icy offered him a sorrow filled smile.

 

“It’s what we do for each other.” She rose to her feet and dusted the grass off her knees. “I’ll see you inside for group. Save you a seat by me.” She took a few steps backward and Jim nodded once more, and she turned and walked away. Jim watched her leave and wondered how the fuck she had endured being raped three times, when he was having difficulty coming to terms with just once.  Then again, she was in Arkham Serenity Hills just like he was. The next three days Jim stayed in bed unless he had counseling, medication to take, or had to go to the bathroom.  He lay there lost in his own horrific thoughts, scribbling madly upon the tablet Dr. Furst had given him, or asleep.  A spike in depression and absolute exhaustion turned out to be the sleeping aid Jim required to get through the night. At least for a few days. Friday morning, he rose from his stupor and showered, washed his hair, shaved and put on clean clothing. He even managed to eat his three allotted meals surprising even Icy that he attended them in the cafeteria.

 

He kept the legal tablet rolled up in his personal room safe where he kept his wallet and any important papers he had received from the facility with sensitive information on them. That was one of the perks of being in a profit run facility; there was a modicum of privacy and protection that county run facilities did not grant their patients. The entries on the tablet were letters he had written to his father and Harvey that he did not intend for anyone to see, least of all Harvey. Possibly Harvey. Probably Harvey. Jim felt his stomach tense as he closed the safe and rose up to stand. He pressed his forehead against the cabinet door the safe was stowed in and closed his eyes. His hands were trembling, his insides jangling, and he hoped that Harvey would soon arrive for his visit. On the other hand, he was terrified that Harvey would probe as to why he looked so pale and anxious.

 

Harvey instantly noticed the change in Jim’s appearance from the last time he saw him until now. He was gaunter, looked much more exhausted and was easily distracted from the moment and receded into thoughts within his mind. Yet Harvey could also see the silent plead within Jim’s gaze not to ask so Harvey didn’t. This small act of compassion seemed to appease Jim instantly and the tension from his shoulders relented a little. They embraced in greeting as always, and Harvey placed a kiss upon the softening whiskers growing upon Jim’s cheek.

 

“Didn’t take you for a beard man.” Harvey teased before sitting down adjacent his dearest friend. He saw a hint of a blush form in those same cheeks and Jim shook his head.

 

“Couldn’t face a razor again this morning.” He could, just not to shave his face. The only thing that had prevented him from running the razor up his wrist to the forearm was he knew Harvey was visiting today, and it was impossible to take apart the disposable razor.

 

“It’s nice though. Different.”

 

“If you say, ‘we could be beard twins’ I just may bite you.”

 

“Promise?” Harvey teased with a saucy wink. The action made Jim smile a little and Harvey felt the bad joke worth it.  “Wanna play cards?”

 

Jim looked around the day room and shook his head. “Do you think maybe we could take a walk?” It wasn’t raining out; not yet and Harvey had taken the drive out to Arkham Serenity Hills, so he had been sitting quite a while. Yet it was the hope in his gaze that Harvey could not deny.

 

“Sure.” He rose, and Jim followed, shrugging his hoodie on as Harvey grabbed his coat and they went in the direction of the garden exit.  Once outside Harvey initiated conversation once more, watching as Jim shoved his hands into the front pockets of his zipped, chocolate brown hoodie.  “You wanted more privacy? Should I be worried?”

 

Jim shook his head. “I just wanted to be more alone with you.” He smiled granting Harvey a side glance. “How do you do it? Balance work and coming to see me? I know it’s exhausting and I just want you to know,” Jim paused and before he could pick up the tread of conversation Harvey yanked at it.

 

“You don’t have to thank me, Jim. We’re brothers. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, you know that. Just like you also know if tables were reversed,”

 

“You’d be spending more days alone than you would see me make the effort to drive out here.” Jim’s brutal honesty didn’t surprise Harvey, but his statement of fact and ownership instead of fishing for reassurance and comfort did.  “I know I’m a self-involved, ass, Harv. I’m sorry.”

 

Harvey nodded in acceptance and placed a warm hand upon Jim’s shoulder. It felt fragile beneath his touch. “There’s obviously something important on your mind.” Harvey rubbed Jim’s shoulder. “We can take it slow.”

 

Jim shook his head. “I can’t tell you what really happened to me to put me in here.” Jim stated distantly, but his eyes were locked on Harvey’s. They had momentarily stopped walking and Jim sat himself down on a concrete bench. Harvey stood before him, hands in his coat pockets.  “Not like this, not talking. But I have something for you. I’ll give it to you before you leave later today. It’s letters to my father and, letters to _you_.” Jim shrugged and looked down at the grass beneath Harvey’s feet. “Ramblings, just thoughts I want to tell you but can’t ever force myself too.” He swallowed and looked up to Harvey’s chest. “I’m not very good with the whole communication thing, but I write well and,” Jim paused as he brought his eyes up to Harvey’s once more. “you’ll understand exactly what I’m trying to convey to you when you read them.” At least, he hoped. If Harvey didn’t it would be because a misinterpretation upon Harvey’s part and not any ill clarity upon Jim’s. “Then you can decide where our relationship ends or changes. Because it won’t ever be the same Harvey. I know this, but I can’t keep this from you any longer. You have a right to know especially since,” Jim fell abruptly silent, and dropped his gaze. “you feel about me the way that you do.”  Jim’s bottom lip trembled as his gaze pricked with tears. “What I can say aloud is, that I don’t ever want you to regret it.” He swallowed and looked up at Harvey as a couple of tears trickled down his cheeks. “Or be ashamed of it.” He wiped the tears away with a sleeve and beheld Harvey’s shocked expression. “Because I’m not. Not **ever**.” It was more than apparent that Jim was terrified that Harvey would be.

 

“J-Jim. I,” Harvey stuttered and groped for appropriate wording. “I never,”

 

“It’s okay.” Jim assured reaching out to place a hand upon one of Harvey’s arms. “Let’s not talk about it. Not right now. I just want to enjoy our time together before everything changes between us.”

 

“What do you mean changes?”

 

Jim shook his head. “After you read my letters, things will be altered in our relationship. For the worse or better is up to you. But they won’t ever be the same as they are now.” Jim sniffed as tears threatened to spill again. He tightened his grip around Harvey’s forearm. “So please; can we just not do this until you know everything?”

 

Dumbly Harvey nodded. He placed his hand upon Jim’s and tugged at him a little. “Then let’s get to walking. It’s cold just standing around.” Jim agreed and a few seconds later they were matching strides once more, Harvey’s arm slung carelessly about Jim’s shoulders. His heart beat was racing, and he was convinced that Jim could hear it, but the younger male was too busy battling with insecurities of his own.  “Hey um,” Harvey cleared his throat to shake the emotion out of his tone. “Alvarez asked about this place. More than that, he asked about you. I think he might be fishing for an invitation to swing by.”

 

Jim chuckled without mirth. “He has it, although I figured he’ll be far too busy with his family and girlfriends.”

 

Harvey added a light laugh to the mix. “Yeah, say what you want about the guy, but he somehow finds women who’ll like him.”

 

“They like you.” Jim informed leaning harder against Jim’s side.

 

“Yeah, but only if I pay them to.” There was a sorrow to Harvey’s tone and Jim slipped an arm about his waist, leather creaking as he did so.

 

“That’s not true. Scottie Mullens,”

 

“Was a fluke. It happens every decade or so. My marriage track record proves it.” Harvey shook his head. “Na, I know what I am.”  Jim’s arm tightened around the small of his back and Harvey’s breath caught. Jim’s touch always drove him over the edge with barely a whisper of contact. He knew he was pathetic, and apparently Jim had finally admitted that he noticed just how much so; but Harvey tried not to think about that.

 

“No, you don’t.” Jim stated low just for Harvey’s ears. “Especially not to me.”

 

Harvey swallowed. There were so many things he wanted to say; to ask; but Jim had placed a moratorium on them all except broke the rules when he felt the need too. Harvey was going to play by them; just like he always did where Jim was concerned. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about this until I’ve read your letters.”

 

Jim stopped walking and Harvey froze. Jim moved to stand before Harvey, embrace him and held on tightly awaiting Harvey to return the hug. When he did, Jim closed his eyes and stood there shaking. Harvey grew instantly concerned. “Hey, you cold?”

 

“No.” Jim chocked out and held on tighter.  “You do this to me.”

 

Harvey touched the back of Jim’s head and ran it down to the nape of his neck where it stayed planted. His other arm was wrapped around Jim’s middle and he bowed his head, lips placed just on the crook of Jim’s throat and he held Jim until the other male relaxed and stopped trembling. “Shh. It’s okay. I’m here.” It took Jim a while to settle and once he had, Harvey raised his head and placed the hand from the nape of Jim’s neck upon his cheek. “See? You’re alright.” He placed a kiss upon Jim’s forehead and the two disengaged and began walking once more, Jim’s hand finding and gripping Harvey’s in his own.

 

Harvey stayed until just after lunch, Jim wanting to him to do most of the drive home in the daylight hours. While Harvey signed out of the guest log, Jim went back to his room and fetched the dog eared and hard used note pad. He held it out to Harvey when he was prepared to hand it over, yet didn’t let go immediately, his gaze locked with Harvey’s as the other man’s hand closed around the rolled-up object.

 

“It’s a stream of consciousness type of read. Sometimes I couldn’t organize my thoughts immediately, but others should be in some semblance of chronological order.” Jim paused and bit his bottom lip before taking a visible breath and he released the pad to Harvey. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Jim stated eyes never wavering from Harvey’s even though the exchange terrified him. “Please know that.”

 

Harvey swallowed, the pronouncement affecting him profoundly. He swallowed, hoping to find his own voice. “I do. I feel the same.” It was all he could manage without embarrassing Jim but throwing his arms around him and kissing him senseless. He saw the emotion twist within Jim’s blue gaze.

 

“For now.” Jim initiated an embrace, finally releasing the note pad to Harvey. They hugged and said their goodbyes and Jim watched Harvey walk out the door and possibly out of his life for good. Most likely so; definitely. Not wanting to face anyone or anything, Jim returned to his room and lay down to sob himself asleep. He hoped he wouldn’t dream, wouldn’t wake for hours and sleep through the panic he felt due to everything that Harvey was about to read.

 

When Harvey reached Gotham City proper, he stopped for some takeout food and headed right home. He got comfortable on the couch and ate from the Styrofoam container, drank three fingers of whiskey to take the edge off, put on his reading glasses and uncoiled the tablet. The first letter of sorts was to Jason Gordon, Jim’s deceased father. It was filled with wishful thoughts of support from his dad and accomplishments he wanted to list for Jason to be proud of. The list as it was; three items long and Harvey was at the top of it. From there the next few sets of letters were to Jason as well, talking about how he was a disappointment to his mother Nora, what it was like to be mentally weak and ‘incarcerated’ in a mental institution, to the struggles that he was facing to heal. He discussed his aversion to cognitive therapy and how some of what Dr. Furst told him made logical sense, and techniques he suggested worked if Jim placed them into practice. He spoke of childhood memories and things he had always wanted to tell Harvey about his growing up that he never had before. Then the tone of the letters shifted from dark to darker. They became titled to Harvey and Jim spoke of generalized ‘pain and suffering’ upon being released from the hospital and how difficult it had become to control his anger, his depressive thoughts, and his desire to explode. However, what Jim didn’t say was what those physical injuries had been that hospitalized him, or what had occurred with the beat down.

 

That was until Jim poured out his feelings regarding first his appreciation of Harvey and then finally his love for him. Harvey read the words over and over for several seconds not certain if he were hallucinating them or they were on the paper. Jim Gordon was ‘in **love’** with him.  It was there, several times in fact; upon the yellow colored paper in black ink. Harvey had cried a little, in relief, in happiness and sorrow that he couldn’t wrap Jim in his arms and kiss him properly for the first time in their relationship. His joy didn’t last long, as he read further, and Jim revealed that he would finally tell him the truth about the beat down and why he was at Arkham Serenity Hills. The first time Harvey read the word ‘rape’ in conjunction with Jim all the oxygen was sucked out of his lungs and the room. Disbelief and unadulterated rage blasted through Harvey in equal measure. The event explained so much of Jim’s subsequent behavior following his release from Gotham General, and Harvey felt the crush of empathy knock him back into the cushions of the couch. Jim explained how Flass, Dave and Glen got the jump on him, and how he had been severely concussed initially before the blows started raining down on him. While he had experience fighting off more than one attacker, the three converged at once and Flass outweighed and was stronger than Jim, never mind the two muscle bound men he had flanking him. They had taken control and the only thing Jim could do was struggle and never stop trying to get away.

 

He hadn’t. After beating him, Flass shoved him over the back of the couch and raped him. While Dave held his arms, and shoved his cock down Jim’s throat, and Glen waited for an opening to be vacated to fill. They took a couple of turns with him each, Flass enjoying the assault the most as he hissed degrading things at Jim to humiliate him further.  They had left him after what seemed like hours, Jim remembered passing out a time or two and coming around to the forceful pounding of someone violating him like a spit roasted beast. There was no mercy offered nor granted.  He told Harvey of his shame, of the aftermath and hospital stay. Of trying to face his peers and step back into his life when everything was monumentally altered into before and after the rape. Eventually the three prisoners had been recaptured and sent back to jail, but that had not brought Jim any peace of mind. He constantly relived each and every agonizing touch, feeling phantom sensations at the most inopportune times, of having flashbacks that placed him right back over the couch and odd scents triggering incredible amounts of fear. He could hear their voices, smell them, feel them touching him and he asked Harvey for forgiveness for being a victim. He excused Harvey for not wanting to touch him, to be with him even as a friend now that he was tainted by the assault. He would understand if Harvey wanted nothing more to do with him and wished him well. Harvey read the words, his heart breaking into a million pieces that Jim would think him so disgusted that he would never even wish to be in the same room with Jim again.

 

All Harvey knew was at the first possible hour he could reasonably hit the road to see Jim, he was driving back to Arkham Serenity Hills. Jim deserved support and love, not judgement and ridicule. Harvey was damned determined to see that whatever Jim needed that he would be able to provide.  The following day had other plans and Harvey found himself with a top headline case and the police Commissioner screaming down the chain of command from Police headquarters expecting immediate results.  Harvey texted Jim at three different times that he would call, but kept having to push the time back. Around three a.m. he crawled home to his bed and passed out, case closed and the bosses off his aching back.  He was going to drive the few hours to Arkham Serenity Hills and see Jim once the sun came up.

 

Jim saw the text messages, and every time the call was postponed the less hope of ever seeing Harvey again Jim had. He was freaking out. He wasn’t coming. Their relationship was over. Harvey couldn’t face Jim now that he knew the truth. Jim wanted to die. Life without Harvey in it had been difficult before, but now that he loved the man, life without him would be impossible. Icy was worried about him and sat near him while he stared out a window crying silently. She kept her silence and merely held his hand on occasion and permitted him to just be. Dr. Furst got yelled at for ever suggesting the stupid idea of writing down his thoughts in the first place. Jim lashed out with nothing but anger during their session and there was little Furst could say that would calm Jim for any great amount of time. He wanted to yell and was coherent, so Furst let him yell. Following the session Jim worked out and went back to his room to collapse into tears. He had lost everything; Flass had taken everything from him. Jim wanted to die.

 

When Harvey arrived at Serenity Hills he checked in and was more anxious than ever to see Jim. All the things he had thought to say, or rehearsed in the car on the drive over were all a jumble within his head. While Jim hadn’t answered his texts, the texts had been short and rhetorical, so Harvey wasn’t worried.  Now he was; what if Jim had changed his mind about being in love with him? No. Surely that was ridiculous and Harvey’s insecurities talking. He swallowed them down and fidgeted awaiting Jim’s arrival in the guest reception room. When he felt it was taking longer than it should, he went back to the lobby and checked if anyone had gone to alert Jim. Ten minutes later Jim entered the room and Harvey’s joy was halved as he looked at how exhausted and overwrought Jim’s expression was.

 

“Jim! Hey Junior. What’s the matter? You been cryin’?” He moved immediately to stand before Jim. “What’s wrong?”

 

Jim swallowed hard and barely uttered, “I thought you weren’t ever going to see me again.”

 

“What?” Harvey demanded taking Jim into his arms. “Oh, Baby no. No; never that. I love you. I would never leave you.”

 

Held firmly in his embrace Jim hugged Harvey back and closed his eyes feeling much of his desire to die and pain dissipate as he exhaled. “I’m sorry, Harvey. I tried. I tried to fight but,”

 

“I know you did.” Harvey kissed Jim’s temple and whispered in his ear. “I know who you are Jim, and I know they can never take that away from us. No matter what they did.” He kissed Jim’s cheek and allowed the younger male to burrow against his throat with his face. “It’s okay.” He soothed stroking a hand down the back of Jim’s head. “I read every word you wrote. I brought them with me. They’re in my pocket.”

 

“I don’t need them back right now. I just need you.” Jim insisted squinting his eyes closed and clinging tighter to Harvey. I vacillate between anger and despair. I can’t stop Harvey.”

 

“I know, Baby.” Harvey whispered against Jim’s ear. “I’ll help you through to the other side of it. Together, okay? You’re not by yourself in this. I know it feels like it but I’m, _right_ , **here**. M’not leaving you. I promise.”

 

Jim chocked on a sob and his body began trembling harder. Harvey was afraid for a few seconds that it would shake apart and he would be holding ashes in his hands.  “How can you even want to touch me after,” Jim couldn’t continue and clutched Harvey’s leather coat tighter in a fist. He had one arm pinned between them, holding onto Harvey’s shirt and his opposite hand was wrapped around to Harvey’s back and seized his coat between Harvey’s shoulder blades.

 

“That’s over. I’m the only one that’s going to be touching you now. When we’re ready, that’ll come but right now, you need time and I don’t fault you that. I’ll be right here with you when it’s time to get physical. Okay, Junior? Don’t you worry a second about me not wanting you. I do. I’ve waited for a long time and we’ll get there when we get there.”

 

“You’re so good to me.” Jim managed to utter between tears. “I don’t deserve you.”

 

“I can’t speak to that, but all’s I know is you’re stuck with me.” Harvey smiled feeling Jim burrow closer against him. “It’s okay, Junior. I got you.” Harvey kissed Jim’s temple. “I’ve got you.”

 

They stood like that until Jim stopped crying a while later, then sat down away from the door and anyone else that might be in the room. As it wasn’t a weekend the reception room was relatively empty and of that Jim was thankful. He was private about his problems and even though he was in a mental institution he didn’t want to advertise the exact reasons why he was there to anyone that wasn’t treating him. They sat together side by side and Harvey rubbed Jim’s back a little while allowing for Jim to get his emotions completely under control. Once he was breathing evenly and no longer crying Harvey smiled at him and asked, “So, other than the whole Flass thing; how’re you holding up?”

 

Jim laughed, the action abrupt and honest. He looked at Harvey gratefully and shook his head in disbelief. “Shitty. But improving.”

 

“Good.” Harvey stated earnestly. “Once you’re able to leave this place; whenever that is and you’re ready; do you, maybe wanna move in with me?”

 

“Of course, I do.” Jim stated placing a hand upon Harvey’s knee. “Why wouldn’t I want to live with my boyfriend.” Harvey grinned at the pronouncement and shrugged.

 

“I don’t know, why _wouldn’t_ you?” He ran a hand back through his red hair. “You really want that Junior?”

 

“Yeah. I do.” Jim applied a little pressure to Harvey’s knee with his hand. Harvey slung his arm around Jim’s shoulder’s and pulled him near and placed a kiss upon his temple. Jim blushed and looked at Harvey sheepishly. “But I want to live somewhere new. Not your old place or mine.”

 

“You got something against Hobo Chic?” Harvey teased with a wink. “No, yeah. I get it. I can start looking for a better place. Just let me know what kind of amenities you’re looking for. And what aspects are deal breakers.”

 

Jim nodded and took Harvey’s opposite hand in his own. “I will. I’ll make a list and text it to you.”

 

Harvey grinned and his heartbeat sped up. “You really do love me, don’t you?”

 

“Why wouldn’t I? I told you Harvey, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

 

“Well, I can hardly argue that.” Harvey bumped his shoulder, and then pressed his forehead against Jim’s. “We’re gonna get you through this. Yeah?”

 

Hope blossomed within Jim’s chest. It was going to be a hard road, but he couldn’t help but smile in return as he gazed into Harvey’s eyes. “Yeah.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [High Anxiety Jim – Companion Piece and ficlet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12694221) by [deawrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deawrites/pseuds/deawrites)




End file.
